


bones; crushing

by Mrs_Moony



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Blood, Fight Club - AU, Fighting, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 03:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Moony/pseuds/Mrs_Moony
Summary: Ian had no experience with emptiness. He didn't know how to deal with it, how to fight it. And so, when it took over his whole life, he was stuck.Lip said he's got a plan. Could it work out? Could anything?





	bones; crushing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I was watching Fight Club the other day when I got this idea. The fic itself will have nothing to do with the original plot of the movie, I just borrowed the concept of the actual “fight club”.  
> The story is set in season 7 – everything happened pretty much the same, except that the Gallaghers and the Milkoviches never crossed their paths.

 

 

 

“This is so fucking stupid, Lip.” Ian made an exasperated sound when his brother took another turn to the left, deeper into the maze of dark alleys, completely ignoring his complaints. There was no discussing the subject with him, ever since he brought the idea up.

“Almost there, bro,” Lip muttered, patting Ian's shoulder and looking straight ahead.

At that point, it was so dark that Ian could barely make out the shapes of the walls surrounding them, relying solely on his brother to find the way. He's never actually been in this part of the city, the reasons for that rather obvious: it was the dirtiest, most dangerous place in Chicago. He wouldn't be surprised if they stumbled upon a body while walking through the narrow alley between what looked like two barely standing warehouses.

Ian didn't even notice that Lip had stopped mid-walk, too focused on the thoughts swirling around in his head.

“Fuck,” he cursed as he bumped into his brother's back, stopping abruptly. “We here?”

Lip shushed him quickly, grabbing his upper arm and leading him a bit to the left, then walking a bit longer before dragging him behind a dumpster.

“This is it? You wanted to show me a pile of garbage?”

“Shut the fuck up, Ian, Jesus.” Lip looked around nervously, pulling out a cigarette and creating a temporary source of light when he lit it up. They were in the middle of nothing, just buildings surrounding them.

Ian took the cigarette from his brother mindlessly, trying to keep himself from turning around and getting the fuck out of there.

“If you tell me to shut up once again,” he threatened, returning the smoke, “I'll fucking strangle you. Now tell me, what the hell are we doing here?”

Lip sighed deeply, keeping his voice down. “I told you. Can't talk about it.”

“… Yet you're taking me there?” Ian snorted when Lip nodded shortly, amused at the lack of logic. “So, where are we, exactly?”

“There,” Lip said, pointing at the building on their left. “See that door below the stairs? That's where we're going.”

“Care to tell me what's in there?”

“Can't. Wait and see.”

With that, Lip let the cigarette drop, killing it with his foot before walking towards the door. Ian followed him shortly, zipping up his leather jacket and wishing he hadn't given in when Lip confronted him that evening. Wishing that he could just be in bed. He couldn't do that, though. The whole week, his siblings have been stealing glances when they thought he wasn't looking, as if they were quietly challenging him to break down and bury himself in his bed.

But he was fine. He had it under control. None of what happened seemed to affect him and fuck them for thinking he was just trying to fool them. He wished it were true, but no. He didn't feel sad, desperate, miserable, like they all expected him to feel. Mostly, it was emptiness.

“Yo,” Lip said, loudly this time, knocking at the door. The air around them was stiff, the loudness of the city far away enough to hear the steps coming from the other side, seconds before the door opened.

A man's face appeared a few inched above theirs, looking them up and down.

Wordlessly, the man accepted the small object that Lip lifted up in front of his face. After a few seconds of looking at it, he nodded, backing away and leaving the door wide open.

Once they were inside, the door shut close, leaving them in absolute darkness. Ian could feel Lip's presence by his side, and since there were no footsteps following them down the metal stairs, he figured that the man stayed by the door.

He wanted to ask Lip what the fuck was going on, but he didn't want to get them in trouble. They walked in silence until they reached the end of the stairs. There was a faint light shining from below the door, and once they got close enough, Ian could hear the noises.

Yelling, mostly.

Then, Lip pushed the door open, and even though the light was faint, he had to blink a few times before he could look around properly.

“Lip?” he said, frowning in disbelief. It was the most emotion he could muster in weeks.

He turned away from the scene in front of them, seeing Lip's smirk.

“Welcome. Let's find a spot.”

Ian forced himself to follow his brother through the sea of bodies, making sure not to bump into anyone. There were so many people. The place looked like a giant corridor, light bulbs hanging from the low ceiling from behind the sets of pipes. The noise was like a slap in the face after the long, quiet walk. Most of the people inside were men, in various stages of undress. Some of them were sweating furiously, cheering on something in the front where Ian couldn't see just yet. All of those people, however, had one thing in common.

“Why does everyone look like they just got their ass kicked?” he asked once Lip finally stopped.

“See for yourself,” Lip said, gesturing in front of them.

Ah, that's what everyone was cheering for.

Ian watched wordlessly as the two men were, indeed, beating the shit out of each other, cursing and yelling insults at each other. They were both shirtless and they weren't wearing any shoes. Ian could see that one of them was about to lose soon – his face looked like a canvas, blue and black bruises covered in fresh blood. But when he looked closer, it was obvious that most of the injuries were older.

“Stop! Stop!”

The man who Ian supposed was about to lose was now curled up on the floor, arms raised in front of his face. He was breathing heavily and Ian expected the other man to throw a final punch.

Instead, he offered him a hand, dragging him up and then pulling him into a one-armed hug. More people walked up to them, either congratulating the winner or helping the injured guy walk away.

“So?” Lip asked, reminding Ian that he wasn't alone. “What do you think?”

Ian looked at his brother, frowning furiously when he heard the men who were previously fighting laughing together.

“What is this place? Why is everyone…”

But before he could ask his brother for explanation, he was cut off by a loud voice.

“Alright, alright, cut off that shit. We've all seen you win, Alfie, no fucking need to yell it another ten hundred times.”

Ian's eyes snapped back to the front where the men were fighting before. Now, though, a short, dark-haired man was standing there. As soon as he spoke, the whole room fell silent, everyone's eyes suddenly glued to the man. It was obvious that he had some sort of authority there – he was probably in charge of the whole thing. Ian let himself look him up and down, noticing the cut-off sleeves of his shirt and a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“So,” the man spoke, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I see that you fuckheads have very clearly not been listening to me the last time. Or the last one hundred times. There are at least twenty new people here,” he said, looking around, his gaze stopping on Ian for a short moment before he spoke again. “Can't do anything about that now, can I? Y'all are a part of this now. You gotta play by the rules. And you can't break the first rule like these assholes did.”

There was a quiet murmur in the room, and Ian was surprised when he found out that most of the people looked genuinely sorry. Ashamed, even. They really did have respect for the guy.

“Now that's settled,” the man continued, “let's move on to the rules. Some of you are here for the first time today. The most important rule about this place is: you do not fucking talk about it. Ever. To anyone.”

The room cheered loudly, causing the man to smile more widely. “Tell me!” he yelled, the noise getting louder and louder, “What's the most important rule of Fight Club?”

“YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB!” the people shouted in unison. Lip bumped into his side, mouthing the words along with the rest as they kept repeating it, over and over.

“Second rule!” the man yelled loudly, trying to be heard over the crowd, but as usually, his voice forced them all to shut up immediately.

“If you are here for the first time,” he said, his eyes traveling across the room, stopping on Ian again as he said the last words, “you have to fight.”

Then, the man disappeared in the back, the people of the crowd starting to talk over one another once again. Lip grabbed Ian's arm again, dragging him to the wall so that they could have some sort of privacy.

“Explain,” he said, frowning. “Now.”

“Ian, what is there to explain?” Lip asked, fidgeting nervously. “You've heard Mickey. I couldn't tell you before, but…”

“But why the fuck did you bring me here? How do you even know about this place?” He was confused and mostly irritated at his brother for dragging him to that place. He didn't know what to think about it and frankly, he'd rather not think about anything at all.

“I know you can feel it, Ian,” he said, his face serious. “I could see it. As soon as we walked in here. I feel it, too, that's why I…”

“Feel what?!”

“The rush! The energy, the fucking… I can't explain it, but fuck, you know what I mean!”

As much as Ian wanted to disagree, he couldn't deny it. Lip knew him better than anyone. He could see right through him, most of the time, even when the fog in his brain was so thick that he could barely think. Ever since they walked into that room, his pulse picked up, sending waves of adrenaline to his body. He felt the energy pulsing just out of his reach. If he could just lift the heaviness around him and take it in…

“Hey!” a stranger's voice stirred Ian out of his thoughts. He turned around, spotting a widely-grinning girl walking up to them. She had the same kind of spark in her eye as all those people around them, yet she seemed strangely calm. Her clothes were ripped in a few places and her dark hair was tied up loosely, a few strands falling down her face.

“Mands,” Lip said, smiling. The girl walked up to him and kissed his cheek. “Who's your friend?” she purred into his ear, grinning at Ian as she looked him up and down.

“That's Ian, my brother. Ian, this is Mandy.”

“Hey,” he said, smiling, though it didn't reach his eyes. Mandy nodded at him, the grin never leaving her face, though he could see her face tighten a bit when she looked at him. It only lasted a second or two, her eyes leaving him and concentrating on Lip again.

“Mandy showed me this place,” Lip said, and it finally clicked then. Lip had mentioned the girl, though Ian's never seen them together before. He knew who she was. The Milkoviches were kinda famous on the South Side.

Mandy seemed to have picked up on the recognition in his eyes, snorting loudly. “You gonna be an ass about my family?”

That made him smile, genuinely this time. “Nah. Your brothers sell good weed.”

Mandy grinned devilishly, leaning into Lip's side. “He's cool. He can stay. But if you say a word to anyone else, Mickey will have your balls,” she said calmly, laughing when Lip scoffed loudly.

“Not gonna happen. I only did it once, didn't I? Ian's my brother. Fucking Jerry?! He told at least eight random people and no one's threatening _his_ balls.”

“You're such a baby,” she teased, biting at his chin playfully. Ian really didn't want to see that.

“Um, guys,” he said, looking around sheepishly. Another fight was taking place now, this one far more brutal than the last one. He almost couldn't look away.

“What? You scared?” Mandy said, fake concern dripping from her voice. She kept creeping closer and closer until she was right in front of him, and though she was almost a head shorter than him, she was looking at him like he was an ant under her boot.

Then, she pushed him. Like, a lot. He wasn't expecting it at all and he could feel the wind being knocked out of him.

“What the fuck?!” he said, unbelievingly, but Mandy just laughed playfully.

“Relax. It was just fun. Besides, you're gonna have to learn to expect such moves. Otherwise, the other guy is gonna have your ass served to him on a silver plate.”

“Okay,” he laughed, shaking his head and backing away. “There seems to have been a huge fucking misunderstanding here. I'm out of here.”

Without glancing back at Lip, he started pushing his way through the bodies, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine when he became a part of the cheering crowd. It was both like being choked underwater and taking a first breath in minutes. It was suffocating. It felt like being _alive_.

“Hey,” a deep voice growled just below his ear, a strong grip on his shoulder forcing him to stop. He turned around quickly, ready to knock someone down if need be.

It was the leader-guy. Mickey.

“Have you not been listening, Red? You ain't leaving before you fight. That's the rules.”

“Fuck you,” he spat out, turning on his heels, but before he could get any further, Mickey kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to fall down. In what seemed merely like a fraction of a second, he was lying face-down on the ground, his arm twisted behind his back, another man's weight on his back keeping his down.

“I ain't gonna repeat that. You're gonna fight.” Mickey voice was deep and dangerous, the vibrations echoing in Ian's ears long after the other man pulled himself off of him.

“No,” he said firmly, standing up. He expected another blow, but he was ready now. Mickey was facing him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Then why are you here, huh?”

“I don't fucking know, okay?! I have no idea what this place is and I certainly didn't sign up for this so, if you don't mind, you can stick those rules up your ass while I find the exit. It was not nice knowing you,” he muttered, breathing heavily as he turned around once again. His heart was racing and he could almost feel the blood rushing through his veins, his chest pulsating with the vibrations from the room. He hadn't felt that worked up in weeks. It was making him want to crawl out of his skin and scream.

Without consciously deciding to do so, he stopped. He was still clutching his teeth trying desperately to push down the panic that was rising up his throat. But it felt different. So, so different from all the nothingness.

“It's your turn.”

He turned around slowly, seeing that Mickey was standing right behind him, one eyebrow raised in expectation.

“I said I won't fight.”

“And yet you will.”

Ian didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say, really. While he knew that saying no was the only rational option, his body seemed to have a mind of its own. His head was almost spinning from the rush, his hands shaking as he flexed and un-flexed them.

Another few seconds have passed before he cleared his throat and spoke. “What do I have to do?”

Mickey tilted his head, a lazy smirk appearing on his face. “There are a few rules. You can't wear any boots or shirt. You can't use any weapons – no knives, no shreds of glass, nothing. You don't go for eyes or ears. And if someone says stop, the fight ends. If no one says it, you go on. Got it?”

Ian nodded shortly. This was crazy. He shouldn't be there, he should be going home. The whole place made no fucking sense. For a few seconds, he believed it was all just a hallucination. 

“Why?” he asked then, the curiosity getting the better of him. “Why do you fight? All of you? What's the point?”

His eyes travelled across the room, stopping on the people around him. All of their faces held the same expression – excitement. The two people fighting were too far back for him to see, but the sounds… It tugged something in his stomach, making him want to see more, to feel more.

When he looked back at Mickey, the other man was looking at him curiously, but his expression snapped back to neutral as soon as he met Ian's eye.

“Don't think about it. Just feel. Unleash. Forget about everything else. Nothing else exists, just you, me, these people, the fight. Nothing else.”

Mickey's pale blue eyes were piercing, mesmerizing. His gaze was burning a hole in Ian and his voice filled up his brain, filled up his void, filled up everything there was to him with _need_.

He didn't know what it was that he needed so badly, but the knowledge alone that he was still capable of something so strong forced him to make up his mind. He was not leaving.

“I'll do it,” he said, his voice firm and not shaking for once.

“Ian! Fuck, where did you go?!” Lip appeared behind Mickey, panting, with Mandy still by his side.

“Mandy, go stop those assholes, will you? I think Andrew just broke someone's tooth and it's not his fucking turn yet.” Mickey said, flipping Mandy off when she rolled her eyes.

“HEY ANDREW! CUT IT OUT!” she shouted, not moving an inch.

“I could have done that, bitch,” Mickey sighed, rubbing his forehead, to which she just laughed, smirking.

Oh. He should have noticed sooner. Mickey and Mandy, the youngest of the Milkovich siblings. He's never really seen them around – it was mostly the older ones that caused all the trouble.

“Ian, we can talk about this all when we get home, alright? But you're already here. I know it seems crazy, it seemed like that to me the first time, too, but…”

“No worries,” he muttered. “I'm used to crazy.” Ignoring his brother, he turned to Mickey. “Who do I have to fight?”

Mickey either didn't notice the tension between the brothers or he simply didn't care. He walked up a bit closer and smiled. “Me.”

As soon as he said it, everyone fell silent. The pair in the front that was fighting stopped. Lip and Mandy were both looking at Mickey dumbly, mouths hanging open.

“He's a newbie,” someone muttered from the crowd, breaking the quiet.

“I noticed,” Mickey snorted, ignoring the comments. “You up for a challenge? Or do you need me to see you out? Trust me, you don't want that, Red.”

Not knowing why he didn't take the offer, Ian felt a smile tugging on his lips. He was practically shaking now, the buzz of energy that was radiating off the others seeping into his bones, almost making it all feel real.

“Let's do this.”

A few people whooped then, suddenly eager to watch the fight. They circled around the two of them, closing them in, both Lip and Mandy getting lost in the sea of bodies. The smell of sweat and rust from the pipes was filling up Ian's nose, the humming of the crowd was all he could hear.

“Alright!” Mandy yelled, clearing out a path for her to walk through. “Since my brother's gonna get busy soon, y'all need to back off a little! Come on, let's make some space, fuckers.”

Slowly, the space around the two of them wasn't so tight anymore and both Mickey and Ian took a few steps back. Mickey was smiling still, not looking at anything in particular as if this was his evening routine. Maybe it was.

Ian, however, was shaking the whole time as he undressed. He put his shoes off too, following Mickey's example, and soon they were facing one another, waiting.

“On three!” Mandy yelled, and Ian stood straighter, using his height to tower over Mickey.

“One, two,” she said and he breathed in, closing his eyes for a second before snapping them open.

“Three!”

Ian didn't want to get taken out as easily as the first time, so he aimed for the first punch. He was surprised when Mickey didn't back off an inch, pretty sure that he had plenty of time to move away if he wanted. Instead, he let Ian's fist collide with his jaw, sending a jolt of throbbing pain to Ian's knuckles.

Mickey smiled, the blood from his busted lip dripping down his chin.

Then, he moved so fast that Ian could barely fathom what was happening before he was taking hit after hit into his stomach, the force of them instantly making him cough. He growled in frustration and threw Mickey away, punching him in the face and his chest.

The people around them were like a single living cell, surrounding them and echoing their moves with their cheering. With every blow that Ian took from Mickey, he felt a rush of excitement pulse through his veins.

“Stop holding back!” Mickey yelled at him after Ian punched him, spitting out the blood. “Hit me like you fucking mean it!”

The thing is, Ian knew how to fight. He used to know that, at least. Before all of the shit that he now called his life happened, he was someone else. Someone young and ambitious and with his head held high, someone who had dreams and expectations and a future. Someone who wasn't afraid.

Mickey's fist hit him in the face strong enough to throw him a few feet back. He almost lost his balance, but he didn't care. The rush was wearing off, slipping through his fingers like everything else ever did. He was tired. So fucking tired.

“Jesus Christ, man! I'm right fucking here and you're just standing there, taking hits like a pussy!”

It shouldn't have done anything to him. He didn't _expect_ it to do anything.

But then it probably wasn't him who snapped his head up suddenly, a growl dragging out of his mouth as he raced at Mickey with all the strength he could muster – but no, that wasn't right. It wasn't his strength. He borrowed it from the people around him. He took and took and took until something finally _snapped_ in him.

Suddenly, hauled out of his trance, he could finally really feel the rush, feel the energy, feel the strength of his body – the strength that he thought he had lost forever.

He kept punching and kicking and hitting, seeing Mickey flash him a smile when he finally let go. Both of them were panting and grunting, neither wanting to be the one to give up. Ian's vision has never been so clear. He could see every single drop of sweat on the other man's skin, every smudge of blood, every muscle flexing when he threw his punches.

The smile on Ian's face was wide and real, and even when he could feel his mouth filling up with blood, could feel it dripping down his chin and neck, he didn't stop smiling. He couldn't.

Then, suddenly, Mickey kicked him down and pinned him to the ground, his knees blocking Ian's arms from moving. He couldn't throw him off and with every second passing when he wasn't moving and throwing hits, he felt the numbness creeping slowly back again, ready to take over.

“No,” he mumbled, gasping for breath when Mickey held him in place by his neck. He couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand to lose it once he finally felt it after all that time.

Mickey was looking him straight in the eyes, unmoving as Ian struggled to break free. He wasn't smiling anymore, wasn't mocking him for not being able to get up. Ian could feel the panic rising in his chest and he knew it showed on his face, but Mickey didn't look at him with pity, either.

He was just looking. And suddenly the weight on him wasn't a burden anymore. Even though everything else was blurring and fading, the sounds quieting down into a background noise, Mickey's presence felt just as real as before. _He was the one constant in a sea of variables._

Ian found out that he couldn't let go. If he did, he'd be lost. He couldn't stand the thought of it.

“Ian?” Mickey asked, frowning. “We're done, yeah? I'm gonna get up now.” He sounded unsure, probably because Ian knew what he looked like then. Seconds ago, he was smiling, radiating the energy just like everybody else. Now, he thought his face looked just like he felt on the inside. Like he was just barely holding on.

“Don't,” he managed, the words being more a whisper than anything else. “Don't,” he said again, more firmly, not knowing what he was asking for, not knowing what it was that could make it stop.

Mickey's eyes were still locked into his as he slowly stood up from Ian's chest, and for a second, when the weight lifted off of him, Ian thought he had shut down again. But Mickey was still looking at him, not letting his gaze leave Ian's eyes once.

“Let's go,” Mickey said. “Need to get cleaned up.”

Ian nodded. He heard Mandy yelling something in the distance, and the crowd scattered slowly, leaving the four of them alone.

“Ian?” Lip asked trying to reach out to him, but as soon as Ian looked away from Mickey, he felt like someone was choking him. It was the panic in his eyes, or the fear, maybe, that caused Lip to look so freaked out, but it only sent Ian further into the abyss.

“Fuck, I'm so sorry… This was a terrible idea, I don't know what I was thinking, I just…”

“Ian.” Mickey cut his brother off and Ian had to force his head to turn to the other man. He swallowed, trying to bring back the feeling he had when he looked at Mickey before. Like he could… no, not save him.

Like he could make Ian strong enough to pull himself out.

What was he thinking?

“Let's go, Lip,” he said, his voice dead. Empty. He turned around from Mickey and saw his brother relax by his side, probably thinking that this was a good thing. That he'd be as good as new soon. That, with the new meds and the therapy and the constant scrutiny, they could maybe get him to be their brother again. The brother they've known for years, the brother they've last seen when he left for the army.

“Man, you're bleeding. Come with me, I'll get you something for it. You took quite a beating. Not that I didn't.”

Ian stopped, but didn't turn around. He looked at Lip who was still wearing that concerned expression, who was still looking at him like he might shatter at any moment.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

“Ian!” he heard Lip's voice from behind him as he walked away slowly, following Mickey to the front and then to the dark where a small door was hidden. They walked through it and when Mickey shut it closed, a few lights flicked on. It was a small room with a table, a sink and a bed. There was some food scattered around, like someone was there not long ago.

“Sit. Want some water?” Mickey asked, mindless of his own injuries as he walked up to the sink and pulled two bottles of water from below the counter.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Ian who accepted it but didn't drink.

Mickey shrugged and opened his own bottle, emptying it in a few big gulps. Ian was sitting still, waiting.

When Mickey tried to reach the top shelf on the opposite wall, he hissed and cursed loudly, observing his ribs.

“Fuck, if you broke my ribs, I'll fucking kill you. Shit heals too fucking long.”

Ian didn't reply, but he did open the bottle and take a little drink, feeling the burn as the cuts on his lips opened.

He watched Mickey wash his hands thoroughly, then take a first aid kit and walk up to Ian.

“I don't have a mirror in here so it'd be easier if you let me take care of that,” he said, motioning towards the side of Ian's face that was particularly hurting.

He didn't say anything but he let Mickey clean the spot and then apply some antiseptic before covering it with a gauze.

“Why did your brother show you this place?” Mickey asked while working on some smaller cuts.

Ian cleared his throat a few times, noticing how sore it was. “I don't know,” he mumbled. “He said he wanted to show me something. And then we're here, watching people beat each other senseless.” His voice was quiet but firm and he felt proud of himself for that. He knew he wasn’t gonna break down or shatter. All he was afraid of was the emptiness taking over. But maybe if he kept talking to Mickey, it wasn't going to happen.

“Yeah, but… Everybody comes here with a purpose. Even if it's not their purpose. Your brother must have thought that this was what you needed.”

Ian hadn't thought about it like that and the realization startled him. He didn't know what to think about that.

“Why are you here, then?” he asked, trying to shift the focus towards Mickey.

The other man laughed, finally setting the kit down after deciding there were no more wounds to take care of. “I started the club a year ago. It was just me and Andrew at first, but the word gets around quickly. The more people started coming, the more important it was to keep it quiet, hidden. I figured that no one would find us in this dump since it technically doesn't belong to anyone.”

While Mickey was talking, he started cleaning his own face, and Ian was about to ask if he should help him, but Mickey just shook his head when he did. “Nah, man. I learnt how to do that alone a long time ago. Thanks, though.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Mickey taking care of his face and Ian listening to the distant sound of yelling.

“You know how to fight. Yet you seemed like you didn't know how to throw a punch in the beginning. Why?”

Even though Mickey's voice wasn't mocking at all, just genuinely curious, Ian saw it as an insult. “Fuck you. You don't know shit about me.”

“Never said I did. But I've never seen anything like that. It was as if…” he looked at Ian again, ignoring the anger written all across his face. “…as if something just snapped in you. Or broke. I can't figure it out.”

“Then don't,” he replied automatically, ignoring the wave of _something_ that hit him after hearing Mickey's words. Like he understood. Or tried to, anyways.

“I think you want me to,” Mickey continued, unfazed by Ian's dismissal. “I think that you crave to be figured out. That you want someone to look at you and _see_ you – the real you, the person that took over when we were fighting.”

Ian opened his mouth but no sound came out. He felt tricked. Did Mickey really just see that? Could he? After one stupid fight? Did Lip tell him something – was this set up by his siblings?

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, suddenly angry. No, he was furious. It was like someone set his skin on fire, not at once, but slowly, inch by inch until he could only see red.

He didn't even realize that he was standing, towering over Mickey who was looking at him calmly, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Or what?” he asked.

Ian huffed in annoyance, but Mickey ignored him and stood up, too, stopping only when they were close enough to breathe the same air.

“I don't know you,” he said, dragging each word out slowly, “but I've _seen_ you. Like no one else ever has. And you've seen me the same way, except that you weren't looking. You're angry. You're angry and furious and annoyed, and I ain't gonna treat you like a child, ain't gonna look at you the way you brother did, as if you were about to snap any second.”

Ian's breaths were getting faster, the anger dissipating slowly, but he wasn't getting dragged into the void just yet.

He gasped, unaware, but he felt like he should be screaming instead.

“How,” he asked, but Mickey shook his head.

“Told you. I've seen it all, during the fight. When the moment came and you seemed like you got struck by lightning. I don't know what it was, but I think that's why your brother brought you here. To get that reaction out of you.”

“It's not working,” he said, gritting his teeth. He didn't know why he was saying that. He didn't know why he kept talking to Mickey, why he was still standing so close, too close, but he couldn't force himself to back away even an inch, not when the anger was getting replaced by something else, something that just made him want to keep standing there forever.

“I think it is,” Mickey said, a small smile playing on his lips. “I…” he started, suddenly not looking confident at all, but the uncertainty disappeared quickly. “It's true, isn't it? I knew it was, as soon as I saw you there. I knew that look in your eyes, the apathy. I know it. Not the same way you do, I'm sure, but… I know how to fight it.”

“I don't,” Ian said, eyes wide, “I don't know how to fight it.”

“You're already doing it. You did it before.”

“No, that was… That was you. Then and now, it was you that made me… Fuck,” He backed off, rubbing his face. He was scared, so scared. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing. I should just go, Lip is…”

“Don't. We can stop talking about it if you want to.” Mickey didn't come any closer, but it felt like he was reaching out to him, still. He wanted to reach back.

Ian glanced at the door behind him, shaking. He didn't like feeling like that – trapped – and he didn't know why it suddenly happened, but it was like being squeezed from all the sides at once.

The panic was boiling inside of him, threatening to take over. He looked away from the door. He looked back at Mickey who was still standing there, just looking at him, even though he was slowly falling apart.

And that, somehow, made it bearable.

His knees gave out and he knelt down onto the ground, but he wasn't shaking anymore. He kept looking at Mickey, trying to figure out what it was about him that seemed to ground him when he was losing it.

Mickey sat there quietly, his expression solemn but still. After what felt like hours, Mickey stood up and knelt down, too, slowly.

When they were on eye-level, he stopped. “The floor's cold. Come up. Sit next to me.”

Ian nodded and was grateful that Mickey didn't offer him help, didn't try to coax him for being so weak.

“How do I fight it? How did you do it?”

“I don't have an answer for that. Everyone's got this thing they have to fight, you know. Except that for some people, that thing is stronger than them. And sometimes you can't do anything, just wait for it to stop, or wait for it to become bearable.”

Ian felt an urge to ask more, to know more, but those thoughts were so far away. Maybe, if he met Mickey elsewhere, at a different time, he would have asked those questions, and maybe they'd laugh together, careless and free. Now, though, he couldn't find the strength. All he could do was try to find out how to get it to stop.

“But you did it with me. When we fought, and even now… “

“Wasn't me. You did it,” Mickey said, looking up at him, but no, that wasn't right. It couldn't be.

“ _No!_ ,” he said, hissing. “You. It was _you_. Please,” he said, looking into those blue eyes, trying to get him to understand. “Do it again. Please, Mickey.”

He hated the way he sounded, so desperate, begging for something that, deep down, he knew Mickey couldn't give him. Because it hadn't been real, had it?

But then, something about Mickey's expression changed. He wasn't looking at him like he was trying to prove him wrong, wasn't smirking down at him or smiling gently or frowning or just looking at him like a steady presence – he was looking at him with wide eyes and his mouth slightly open, the look in his eyes determined as he took a breath and leant in.

It was the first time someone kissed him in years while he wasn't drunk or coked out or barely conscious. And it was nothing like any other kiss he'd had before – Mickey kissed him just like he fought – making him feel like he was right there, as real as he could ever be.

And there it was again – the spark. It wasn't anger or frustration, it was something that made him want Mickey, _need_ him. He thought he'd lost that long ago.

But it only lasted seconds before Mickey pulled away, uncertain. “Sorry if that was… I just thought…”

“Again. Do it again.”

He didn't wait for Mickey to do the move this time, and as soon as he saw the other man smile lightly, he pressed their mouths together in a much sloppier kiss.

Ian felt both light-headed and extremely heavy at the same time, not knowing what to do with the sudden desire in his stomach, barely realizing what his body was doing.

Kissing Mickey Milkovich was like a drug. It was the greatest rush he's experienced that wasn't fake or induced by drugs or by the fucked up chemicals in his brain. He knew that he was balancing on the edge of the abyss, and he knew that he wasn't beating the emptiness.

Maybe it couldn't be beaten. Maybe he couldn't fight his way out of its grasps. And he didn't know it any other way, not yet, but he knew he could learn. After so, so long, he had a small piece of hope.

“Ian,” Mickey said once he broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together. Ian could still feel his fingers tracing up and down his neck and he leant into the touch, sighing softly.

“That's better than fighting,” he mumbled and Mickey failed at suppressing a laugh.

 

…

 

Ian didn't know how many hours they had spent there, together, in the back room of the warehouse. The people had left already, Mickey took care of that, and the place was strangely quiet. Ian noticed several missed calls from Lip and he texted him that he was okay, but ignored the other texts, setting his phone on quiet mode.

 He didn't know how it was possible to feel that lever of comfortable around a person you've only known for a few hours, but he had that with Mickey. Most of the time they just set together in silence, and whenever Ian felt like he was slipping, he prompted Mickey to talk. Or he kissed him. And it felt the same every single time.

“The meetings are every Thursday. You should come next week,” Mickey said to Ian. They'd been talking about the Fight Club a bit, but Mickey was reluctant to tell him the specifics of how it all started.

“Maybe,” he replied, glancing at his phone. “I should go. It was… thanks. For everything.”

“No need to thank me,” Mickey replied, frowning. “I know we don't know each other well, but I'm here if you need to talk or whatever. I spend most of my days here anyway so you know where to find me.”

“You can't save me,” he snapped, having heard the phrase so many times before.

“I know,” Mickey replied, smiling. “Never said I could. Never said you needed saving. I don't know what it is that you need, and I bet that neither do you, but I'm here when you figure it out.”

Without as much as a warning, Ian leant in once again and kissed Mickey, almost shaking with anticipation before doing so. But it didn't have the same effect anymore. It was the same rush, the same spark, but he wasn't just barely holding on anymore. He wasn't able to climb up just yet, and there was no one to pull him up, but he felt like he was just a little bit stronger. Like it was just a little less hard to keep going.

Like it was a little bit more worth it to keep fighting.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> there might be more parts to this in the future ^^
> 
> the line "he was the one constant in a sea of variables" is stolen from Mr. Robot


End file.
